When Nightmares Come
by Charlene Edwards
Summary: Dick wakes up in a straight jacket in a barred cell. They say Nightwing is all in his mind. What Strange world has our hero woken up in???
1. Chapter 1

Title: When Nightmares Come  
  
Author: Charlene Edwards  
  
Disclaimer: They belong to DC not me (dang it)  
  
Rating: i.e.: PG-13  
  
Story Synopsis: This is in response to John's story challenge. Dick's woke up in a straight jacket in a barred cell. They say Nightwing is all in his mind. What Strange world has our hero woken up in???  
  
Thanks: To Kat, Kim, & Logan for beta'ing. & to John for the idea (like I needed something else to work on, LOL) ;-) Hope y'all like it.  
  
When Nightmares Come:  
  
He stirs into consciousness. As he starts to open his eyes, he finds his vision is blurred. 'Where am I?' He started to get up, but he couldn't move his arms. Something was holding them.  
  
"What?" As he struggled, he realized he was bound by a straight jacket. "What the hell is happening? Where am I?"  
  
Managing to sit up on the bunk he looked around the room with fuzzy eyesight. He knew he had been drugged, he could feel it in his system, that's why he couldn't see clearly. Closing his eyes, he tried to shake off the effects of the drug. Opening his eyes again, he tried to focus.  
  
He was alone. In a cell. A metal room of small dimensions. He sat on the lone bunk. A metal sink and toilet against the back wall. A door of cold steel bars at the front of the room.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked.  
  
Footsteps. He heard the clanging of footsteps approaching his cell. He tried to stand up but fell back on the bunk. The drugs still had a hold on him. Looking toward the door he saw a uniformed guard and a man in a white doctor's coat.  
  
"Are we awake now, Mr. Grayson?" the man in white asked.  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"Arkham Asylum."  
  
"What!"  
  
"You're here for treatment Mr. Grayson."  
  
"What are you talking about? Arkham's for the criminally insane."  
  
"That's what the court has found you to be."  
  
"Court? What court? What the hell are you talking about?" Dick asked. His head was spinning. His heart rate rapid, his breathing quick and labored.  
  
"You've been suffering from extreme delusions of grandeur. You think you're some kind of costumed vigilante known as Nightwing."  
  
Dick's eyes widened as this doctor mentioned his alter ego. How did he know? "How ... when ... ?"  
  
"This is your first day here. You were transferred here after your trial. Your father, Mr. Wayne, had you in a private sanitarium pending your trial."  
  
"Trial! What trial? What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"In your delusions, you attacked four men. Put three of them in the hospital. You were tried for aggravated assault and found not guilty by reason of insanity. So the court ordered you here until you're well again."  
  
"No. No! This is not right. That didn't happen. None of that happened. I want to see Bruce."  
  
"Your father will visit with you on the visiting day, I'm sure. Just as soon as you're stabilized."  
  
"You don't get it," he said as he found his feet and approached the door. "I want Bruce. NOW!" Dick started struggling against the arms of the straight jacket. He would get this off. He was going to get out of here and get to the bottom of this.  
  
"Dick."  
  
He stopped struggling as he heard the calm, familiar voice. He turned back toward the cell door and walked as close as he could. "Bruce?"  
  
"Son, Dr. Arkham allowed me to come here to see you. I knew you'd be upset when you came to. Dr.," Bruce said as he turned toward the man who had been speaking with Dick, "may I speak with my son alone."  
  
"Certainly Mr. Wayne, the guard and I will be just down the hall."  
  
Dick and Bruce watched the doctor and guard as the walked away. Then father and son turned to face each other.  
  
"Thank God you're here Bruce, you gotta get me out of here. They know I'm Nightwing."  
  
"Dick, son, try to calm down. Please. The doctors here are going to help you. They'll help you get past these delusions you've been having. I know this isn't going to be pleasant for you. God, you don't know how it kills me to see you like this. In a cell, restrained. But Arkham is better than Blackgate. Which is where you could've ended up. Let these doctors help you Dick."  
  
Dick stared at Bruce with incredulous eyes. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
  
"What? Are you crazy? Get me out of here. You're Batman, I'm Nightwing. What's wrong with you?"  
  
"Dick," Bruce began, then he bowed his head. Looking back up at his son, tears were in his eyes. "These doctors will help you and soon you'll come home to the people who love you. I can't help you now Dick. I have to leave you here. I love you son." With that, Bruce Wayne turned and started walking away.  
  
Dick watched as the man who looked and sounded so much like Bruce moved toward the exit. It couldn't be Bruce. Bruce wouldn't leave him here. Bruce wouldn't have let this happen. He leaned his head against the cold bars, letting out a loud sigh. How did that man look so much like Bruce? How did his captors know he was Nightwing? Who were his captors? God that man sounded so much like Bruce, looked so much like Bruce. What if what he said was ...  
  
"No!" he roughly said, as he shook his head. It was the drugs. It HAD to be the drugs. He couldn't be ... this wasn't real. He wouldn't let it be real. Dick stumbled back to the bunk. Falling, rather than sitting, down on it. His head was dizzy, but his mind raced. The words 'Criminally insane' continuing to run through his mind.  
  
His eyes turned back to the barred cell door. His vision was still slightly blurred. He would get out of here. He'd get to the bottom of this -- he was Nightwing after all.  
  
to be continued. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Nightmares Come: Part 2:  
  
Two burly guards held a tight grip on each of Dick's arms as they moved him from his cell down a series of halls and into an office. Dick was still groggy from the psychotropic drugs they had been injecting him with over the past week. Forcefully, the guards sat him in a pastel covered chair. Across the desk from Dick sat the doctor he had first met upon waking up in this place. The two guards remained on either side of him.  
  
"How are we today, Mr. Grayson?"  
  
Dick silently stared at the doctor.  
  
"May I call you Dick?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"So, we're not in a talkative mood today are we. That's okay. I'm Doctor Thaggen. I've been assigned your case. As we discussed on your first day here at Arkham, we're going to help you. You've been suffering from extreme delusions of grandeur. You've been thinking that you're some kind of costumed vigilante known as Nightwing. After fully reading your charts, I think that you might also be suffering from a bi-polar affective disorder."  
  
Dick's blue eyes bored into the doctor, but he said nothing.  
  
"I think you need individualized therapy at the moment. After you're more stable, we'll discuss moving you into some group therapy. How are the medications making you feel?"  
  
"How the hell do you think they're making me feel?" Dick angrily asked. His speech slightly slurred from the drugs he was being given.  
  
The two guards placed their hands on Dick's shoulders as he raised his voice. They firmly kept him in his seat.  
  
"It's understandable that you're upset, Dick. But remember, we're here to help you."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Your father's very concerned about you too."  
  
"Cut your crap. Tell me who you really are and why I'm here." Dick growled.  
  
The doctor sighed audibly. "This attitude is not going to help you Dick."  
  
"What attitude is? You want me to buy into this shit. Ain't gonna happen."  
  
Doctor Thaggen stood up and walked around the desk. Sitting on the corner of the desk, closer to his patient, he leaned in and said, "Perhaps your problem stems from the death of your parents. Perhaps you see a need to revenge their murders. And in doing so, your mind created this super-hero persona. It's only natural that you would want..."  
  
The doctor was stopped in mid-sentence as Dick kicked up with his left leg, catching the doctor in the chin. The doctor fell backwards from the desk. The two guards grabbed Dick, attempting to restrain him. The chair he was sitting was knocked over in the scuffle. Dick fought the guards. He also fought the drugs in his system, trying to shake them off. He had to escape. He had to find his way home. That would be the only way to get to the bottom of this.  
  
Kicking one of the guards, Dick stumbled over the fallen chair. He tried to catch himself before he fell, but the drugs had him unbalanced. The guards tackled Dick. He tried to fight them, but additional guards came into the room grabbing him as well. As Dick struggled, Dr. Thaggen forcefully stuck a needle into his arm.  
  
"That will cost you Mr. Grayson," the doctor said, then turning to the guards, "Lock him in his cell until he learns to behave properly."  
  
The guards dragged Dick out of the office and back towards his cell. Dick could feel the drugs he'd been injected with start to take effect. He was fighting to stay awake, fighting against the drugs. But there were just too many in his system.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Dick woke up in his cell. There were no lights on, but Dick had found in the week that he'd been here, that a sliver of light came into his cell at night from a window on the tier above him. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. But he knew something was not right here. He stood up and walked to his cell door. Placing his hands around the cold steel bars he stared into the corridor.  
  
"What are you missing Grayson?" he asked himself.  
  
Silence greeted him.  
  
He turned from the barred cell door and started back toward his bunk. Then he stopped. Dick stood motionless for a few minutes before he turned back towards the door.  
  
Silence?  
  
Walking back to the barred door, he realized that he was alone. Alone in his cell. Alone on this floor. There were no other prisoners.  
  
"I knew this was a set up," he said aloud as he realized that if he were in Arkham, there would be other prisoners in the adjacent cells. He started to smile; but it faded as soon as it appeared, "unless ..." He couldn't finish the sentence aloud. 'Unless this is how they process new prisoners. Difficult prisoners.'  
  
Dick sat on his bunk, his back against the wall. Running his hands through his jet-black hair, he let out a deep sigh. Sitting alone in the darkness of his cell, he thought of Bruce. Was he looking for him? Or did he know where he was? Was this real? No, it couldn't be real! Could it?  
  
To be continued.... 


	3. Chapter 3

When Nightmares Come Part 3:  
  
An orderly slid the plastic tray containing Dick's breakfast of oatmeal and orange juice through the small opening at the bottom of his cell's door. Dick watched from his bunk. He sat on the far end of the bunk, his legs pulled up in front of him. Dick sat and watched quietly, never making an attempt to retrieve the food. The oatmeal was probably drugged, as well as the orange juice. They were keeping a lot of drugs in his system. Too many.  
  
His tongue was thick and swollen. He knew this was a side effect to the medications they were pumping in him. His stomach rumbled. He would like to eat the food, no matter how bad it tasted. Would have loved to drink the orange juice too. But he didn't dare. Dick knew he had to lessen the amount of anti psychotic drugs in his system. He couldn't stop them from giving him the shots, at least not yet, but he could not eat. They were overmedicating him by putting it in his food. He knew it. He wasn't paranoid. Was he?  
  
"No!" he mumbled as he took his hand and ran it over his face, feeling the week old stubble on his face. Dick stood and started pacing the cell like a caged tiger. His stomach roared with hunger. He hadn't eaten in almost a week. Angrily, he kicked the tray of food out of his cell. "I want OUT!" he yelled as he next kicked the bars of the cell door.  
  
Guards and orderlies ran to the cell, surveying the scene.  
  
"We going to have to restrain you again?" an orderly asked.  
  
Dick turned to face the men, his icy blue eyes boring into the crowd. "No," he growled.  
  
"Perhaps we should make Dick clean up his own mess," he heard Dr. Thaggan's voice say.  
  
Dick felt a slight smile creep onto his face, "Yeah, why don't'cha."  
  
Dr. Thaggan smiled broadly at Dick as he approached the door to Dick's cell. Placing his hand around one of the bars, "You'd like that wouldn't you? You think that you'd be able to escape if we let you out."  
  
"I'm not thinking anything," Dick said gruffly, "it would just get me the hell out of this cell."  
  
"If you want out of the cell, you could come back to your therapy appointments with me. Would you like that Dick?"  
  
'I'd like to dislocate a few of your bones,' Dick thought before speaking, "Sure doc, whatever. Anything."  
  
Dr. Thaggan turned to one of the orderlies standing around, "You clean up the mess. Guards, you bring Dick to my office. He's ready to start his therapy."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"Why don't we start with your childhood Dick?"  
  
"Why don't we not?" Dick replied as he traced with his fingers the patterns on the arm of the floral chair he sat in.  
  
"I thought you were ready to try and find the root of your problem?" Dr. Thaggan asked as he turned from his window and looked down at the young man sitting in the chair across from his desk.  
  
Dick looked into the doctor's face. With a sly smile he responded, "Yeah, I want to get to the 'root' of my problem. But it's not in my childhood."  
  
"Where then? Bruce Wayne?"  
  
Dick looked up with anger in his eyes, "You don't know shit about Bruce!"  
  
"Then why don't you tell me?" Dr. Thaggan asked, sitting across from Dick. "Tell me what Bruce Wayne has done to you?"  
  
Dick looked up at the doctor, "Done to me? Bruce hasn't done anything to me. He was my father when I had no one. He gave me my life back when my parents died."  
  
"Is that all he gave you?" Thaggan asked, a leering look on his face.  
  
"What are you asking me?" Dick stood and started pacing around the room.  
  
"Didn't he abuse you Dick?"  
  
"What! No! I am so sick of people saying that about him. Accusing him of that behind his back. People have done that since he first took me in. They don't know who they're talking about. Bruce is the best, he's... he's..."  
  
"Batman?"  
  
Dick looked up incredulously. His eyes widened in terror. "How?"  
  
"That was what you kept saying, that Bruce Wayne was Batman and that you were his partner Nightwing. Batman and Nightwing do not exist. You do know that don't you?"  
  
'I know this is not right,' Dick thought to himself as he stared at the doctor. Dick turned toward the wall. Walking closer to the wall until his hand touched the wallpaper, his fingers tracing the pattern on the wall.  
  
Doctor Thaggan watched the expression on Dick's face before he continued, "Well, we'll address that issue later. Tell me about how Bruce abused you?"  
  
"He didn't! He never!" Dick said angrily as he turned back to face Thaggan.  
  
"You said he did."  
  
"What?! No I didn't!" Dick shouted at Thaggan, closing the gap between them.  
  
"Just now, you were talking about how Bruce abused you. Don't you remember?" Thaggan asked in an irritatingly calm voice.  
  
"You're crazy," Dick growled.  
  
"That is not a term we use here, Dick. Why don't you sit down?" Thaggan said as he walked toward his desk. Opening the drawer, he removed a syringe.  
  
"Oh hell no," Dick growled. "I've had enough of that."  
  
"I'm only going to give you something to calm your nerves."  
  
"I. Don't. Need. It." Dick said deliberately.  
  
Two guards walked into the room. Dick had not seen Thaggan press a button summoning them. Closing his eyes, he let his head rest against the chair back.  
  
"No. Please."  
  
"It's for your own good, Dick," Thaggan replied as he prepared the injection. The guards held Dick down as the doctor approached with the needle.  
  
Dick eyed the approaching needle. He tried to struggle, although he knew it was useless. He watched as the needle entered his already scarred arm. He flinched as the needle pierced his skin. He felt the stinging heat of the medications as they entered his system.  
  
"Not again," he moaned. His vision starting to blur as the medications took hold of him. He had to get out of here. He had to now. The two guards grabbed him by his arms, lifting him to his feet.  
  
"Tomorrow, I think we should start hypnotherapy. I think that will be beneficial to you," Thaggan said with a leering smile.  
  
Hypnosis, Dick knew that this was not a good thing. He had to leave, he had to get out of here, wherever here was. He let the guards lead him from the room. He was conserving his strength until just the right moment. Nearing the turn to his cell block, Dick pulled forward with all his weight, pulling out of the guards grip. They hadn't expected this.  
  
"Hey, you can't..." a guard started to say. Dick kicked up with his left leg catching the man squarely in the abdomen. The man fell to the floor. Dick almost fell as well, steadying himself with his hand against the wall.  
  
"You little ..." the second guard started as he grabbed Dick from behind.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Dick let the man grab him. Then, he used the man's momentum against him, flipping him over his head. On unsteady feet, Dick started heading away from the guards, straight rather than turning down the familiar hall leading to his cell. He had to get out of here. He had to find Bruce. Bruce would help him.  
  
Wouldn't he?  
  
But he didn't help him. When he was here. Bruce didn't help him. That had never happened before. When was Bruce here? Had Bruce been here? Dick wasn't sure. There was so much he wasn't sure of anymore. But one fact was clear, Dick had to get out of this place.  
  
to be continued 


	4. Chapter 4

When Nightmares Come Part 4   
  
He staggered down the corridor as quickly as he could. He could feel the medications from that last injection starting to cloud his mind. Dick leaned against the wall taking deep breaths. He needed time -- time to think -- time to recover -- to dry out. But he didn't have time. He heard the guards approaching. He had to leave. Dick tried to steady himself and started to run down the hallway. If only he had somewhere to hide from the guards. He had to hide. Had to think. Had to escape.  
  
But he couldn't escape if he couldn't figure out where he was. He wasn't in Arkham, he couldn't be. They were behind him, he heard them getting closer and closer. If he didn't do something soon, the guards would overtake him.  
  
His eyelids were getting heavy. He was beginning to feel the effect of the drugs spreading through his system and was losing focus. Damn that doctor and damn his drugs.  
  
As Dick rounded a corner, he saw a light. Escape. Hope. He had hope. He had to have it, to endure. Now there literally was a light at the end of the tunnel. Dick moved toward the light. He saw it streaming in from a small opening above a heavy metal door. He pressed his shoulder into the door trying desperately to get it to open.  
  
"Stop!" The guards were yelling at him.  
  
He looked at them and pressed harder against the door. It had to open. He had to get out of here. He heard the guards running toward him as he felt the door give way. He half fell half stumbled through the door and onto the deck of a ship. He saw Gotham City in front of him. He was on the wharf, on a ship. Arkham wasn't a ship. He was right. Now he had to escape.  
  
"Stop! Grayson, stop or we'll shoot."  
  
Frantically, he looked behind him as he continued to escape attempt. His hand rested against the side of the ship as he pushed himself to keep going. He had to find Bruce. He needed Bruce. He tried to duck when he heard the shot, but the medications had him too unsteady. He cried out when he felt the violent piercing into his skin. The heat from the tranquilizer rushed through his body as he fell onto the deck of the ship. Dick continued to crawl, desperate to get away.  
  
He heard the guards surrounding him as he fell into the nothingness of unconsciousness.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
He woke from a restless sleep, sweat on his brow, but he was cold. Looking around, he knew he was back in his small cell. He sat up and leaned against the wall.  
  
"I'm not crazy," he said aloud, not sure if it was a statement of fact or a plea to convince himself. His voice and his breathing were the only sounds he heard. "This isn't Arkham. Don't know where -- "  
  
"But it IS Arkham Dick," he heard the voice say. Looking up he saw Bruce Wayne. Or at least a man who looked and sounded just like Bruce Wayne.  
  
"This is a ship."  
  
"Yes. The old Arkham suffered a lot of damage in the earthquake. The new facility isn't completed yet. They've been using the old prison ship in the Harbor. You remember that," Bruce replied.  
  
"N-no. Why ... why're you ... here," Dick slurred.  
  
"Dr. Thaggan called me about your trouble earlier. He fears that your therapy session caused you to act out. Son, I want you to get well, you need --"  
  
"Shut up! SHUT THE HELL UP!" Dick yelled as he rushed the door, his arms trying to grasp the man who stood outside his cell. "You. Are. Not. Bruce."  
  
The man who looked like Bruce shook his head. "I know what you're upset about. Why you're trying to run away. Dr. Thaggan said you mentioned I had 'abused' you when you were growing up."  
  
Dick stared wide-eyed at the man before him. He noticed the change of his inflection when he said the word "abused". This wasn't Bruce. There was something -- sinister -- about this man. Dick watched him as he continued talking.  
  
"Son, you don't need to mention that. It's our 'little secret' remember. Whatever problems you're having aren't related to that. It was a long time ago. I ... I haven't touched you ... like ... THAT ... in years. You were ... were sixteen. Yes, your birthday. I ... I remember. Do you remember Dickie?"  
  
Dick's eyes were wide as he watched the man in front of him speaking. His mind rebelled against the words coming from the man's mouth. He started shaking his head. No ... this wasn't happening. He ... he wasn't hearing ... THIS.  
  
"Do you remember? It wasn't --"  
  
"SHUT THE HELL UP! YOU'RE LYING! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Dick's face showed his anger. He desperately moved his hands to cover his ears. He wouldn't hear this.  
  
"Dickie -- "  
  
"Don't call me that. Don't EVER call me that! You're not Bruce. Bruce didn't ... he wouldn't ... you didn't ... did you?"  
  
Bruce looked sympathetically at the distraught young man behind the bars. "Did it upset you? I ... I'm sorry if it did. I ... I always thought you ... liked it."  
  
Tears came unbidden from Dick's eyes. He knew it was the medications that kept him from controlling his emotions. "Like it? Who could like that? What child could like that? How could you --- you didn't -- you're NOT Bruce. You didn't ... Bruce didn't ... not to me. Not to me," Dick's last statement was a whisper. He moved to the back wall, placing his hands against the cold steel. The coldness filled his very essence. He was overcome by a hiccupping spasm as he slid down to the floor. "No, no, no."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
He was shackled when he was brought into Dr. Thaggan's office. The guards forced him into the chair in front of the desk. They strapped his legs to the chair so he couldn't kick again. Heavy leather straps bound his arms to the chair as well. Sad blue eyes looked across the desk at the psychiatrist.  
  
"Guards, why don't you leave Dick and I alone," the doctor suggested as he looked at the young man sympathetically. "How are we today?"  
  
Dick turned his face away from the doctor.  
  
"Do we want to discuss your father's visit yesterday?"  
  
"He's not my father," Dick said quietly.  
  
"Well, adoptive father," Thaggan added.  
  
'That wasn't Bruce', Dick thought to himself. They couldn't make him believe that. He wouldn't believe that because Bruce would never hurt him -- not like that -- well he had hurt him emotionally -- a lot. But ... but that was different. That was because Bruce was anal-retentive when it came to showing emotions. He didn't really mean to hurt him -- had he? Had Bruce meant to hurt him? Why did Bruce say those things yesterday? -- No! That wasn't Bruce.  
  
"-- into the light."  
  
"What?" Dick asked as he turned toward the doctor.  
  
"Look into the light, Dick. We're going to try something different today. Just relax."  
  
Dick shook his head. Hypnosis. He couldn't be hypnotized, wouldn't be. Too dangerous. Bruce had taught him mind control -- taught him how to prevent situations like these -- hadn't he? But ... but the medications ... he could barely stay lucid -- IF he was lucid.  
  
"Relax and look into the light. Listen to the sound of my voice ..."  
  
I shouldn't listen to him ....  
  
"... to the sound of my voice"  
  
I shouldn't listen ...  
  
"... sound of my voice"  
  
I shouldn't ..  
  
"... my voice"  
  
Dick's eyes started to close. He could no longer command his body nor his mind as he succumbed to nothingness.  
  
To Be Continued ... 


	5. chapter 5

When Nightmares Come Part 5   
  
Dick calmly sat in the paisley chair in Dr. Thaggan's office. His hand traced the patterns on the chair. His mood was somber, but calm. He had been calmer in the last week. He had been eating the food they had given him, he wasn't causing any more problems for his doctors. The doctor's wanted to help him. The staff wanted to help him. He knew that now. It was the medications. They were working. He had a chemical imbalance, Dr. Thaggan told him that. Explained to him that the medications were helping him become "regulated".  
  
And the hypnosis. That helped too. Helped him relive the abuse Bruce had inflicted on him. He could admit it in hypnosis. Dr. Thaggan had explained to him that he couldn't admit it outside hypnosis because it was "too painful". Dick accepted it as reality. Bruce abused him. He wasn't Nightwing, Bruce wasn't Batman. They didn't exist. It was all in his mind.  
  
Wasn't it?  
  
But the memories seemed so real. More real than the memories of the abuse. Memories of swinging over Gotham, side by side with Bruce, were ingrained in his mind. Pictures. He could see pictures. The abuse he couldn't see. It was words. Was that his way of protecting himself? That's what his doctor told him.  
  
"How are we today Dick?" Dr. Thaggan asked as he entered his office and moved around to sit at his desk. He opened Dick's file and started writing.  
  
"Better."  
  
"Good. I think the medicines are helping you," Thaggan replied.  
  
"Yes, they are," Dick replied. His speech was still slightly slurred, his tongue still swollen. Side effects of the medicines he was taking.  
  
"Do you think you're ready to have Mr. Wayne join us n your therapy sessions?"  
  
"NO!" Dick replied sharply. "I. Don't. Want. To. See. Him."  
  
"You are going to have to face your demons Dick. You have to purge your demons."  
  
"Purge. Yes."  
  
"Let's try a little hypnosis shall we."  
  
"Yes."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Sitting alone in his cell, he heard voices. Not the voices of other prisoners or rather, patients, for he was still isolated on his floor. Dr. Thaggan told him Bruce had requested he be isolated. No the voices he heard were in his head. Weren't they? He didn't tell his doctor he was hearing voices. He was afraid it would be seen as a set back.  
  
Dick didn't want any setbacks. The doctor said that if he continued getting better he could have day passes into Gotham. He wanted to go into Gotham. He wanted to see people.  
  
No one had visited him since he was here. No one but Bruce. And he didn't enjoy Bruce's visits.  
  
The voices he heard brought him out of his thoughts. He didn't like the voices -- well one voice -- it was Bruce's voice. He didn't like it. It talked about the things Bruce had done to him. Always describing in graphic detail what they had done for eight years.  
  
Dick didn't like that. How could Bruce think he'd like that? Why did he do that? Did he do that? What was real? Dick didn't now what was real. He knew what his doctor told him was real. He had to believe it too, so he could get his day pass.  
  
Dick was so tied of being in this cell. He wanted to get out. He wanted to be free. To see the sun. To fly.  
  
To fly? He couldn't fly. What was he thinking? Fly? He did fly -- once -- with his parents. He was a Flying Grayson. But that ended when he was eight. Then he went to live with Bruce where he flew as ... NO! He wasn't ... hadn't been ...  
  
Why? Why didn't he understand? Why couldn't his mind just have ONE set of memories rather than two? Why did his memories conflict with each other? Why did one seem more real than the other?  
  
Bruce. It was Bruce's fault. Dr. Thaggan told him it was Bruce's fault. He had to purge his demons. Bruce was the demon. Wasn't he?  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Dr. Thaggan smiled at Dick. "You have improved so much in the past month. You are making good progress."  
  
"Thanks Doc," Dick replied with a smile. He was smiling. How long had it been since he had smiled? He didn't remember.  
  
"We're going to allow you to go home for the day today. Do you remember?"  
  
"Yes. I ... I want to go home."  
  
"I know you do. Now remember Dick, you can only go to Wayne Manor. You cannot leave there without the orderlies. But you can spend the day there."  
  
"It's Saturday, so Bruce will be there."  
  
"Yes, he will be there. You need to talk with him about your past."  
  
"Yes," Dick nodded, "I remember. I know what I have to do."  
  
"Good. You've done so well. You had a rocky start, but I'm glad to see you made it this far." Dr. Thaggan handed Dick a paper bag. "You'll need this when you go home."  
  
Dick opened the bag and looked inside it. His brow crinkled as he saw the object. Yes, he did need it. He had to talk to Bruce. He looked at his doctor and smiled slightly. "I'm ready."  
  
Dr. Thaggan smiled back at him, "You're a good boy Dick. I know you know what you need to do. And once you do confront your father, you will start getting better. Healing. And that's what you want to do."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Dick stepped out of the car in front of Wayne Manor. The orderlies from the hospital sped away leaving him to stand and look up at the great manor. He smiled. Then he frowned. His emotions were conflicting, his stomach was in knots. Taking a deep breath, he started up the steps, his hand securely grasping the paper bag.  
  
Dick used his key to enter the Manor. He looked around. It was familiar, and yet, different. It wasn't the same house he grew up in. The earthquake had destroyed that house. This house was new. It was purged of the bad memories. All his bad memories... all but one... Bruce remained.  
  
Dick turned and started toward the study. He stood at the door, nervous about entering. He heard Bruce on the phone. He waited outside of the door until he heard Bruce hang up the phone. Tentatively, he turned the knob and opened the door.  
  
Inside the study, Bruce looked up at the door. Alfred had just left for town, he shouldn't be back so soon. Bruce's eyes grew wide when he saw Dick enter the room. Bruce stood from behind his desk, "Dick? Is that you?" Bruce started around the desk.  
  
Dick shrugged his shoulders as he gripped his bag. "Yeah, it's me. They let me out for the day."  
  
"They? Dick where --"  
  
"I have to purge my demons Bruce. You ... you're my demon," Dick said flatly. His voice devoid of emotion.  
  
"What are you talking about Dick?" Bruce asked, confused.  
  
Dick's hand went into the bag. Taking a deep breath, Dick pulled the gun from the bag and pointed it at Bruce. "You know what I'm talking about!"  
  
Bruce felt his breath catch in his throat. A gun. Dick was pointing a gun at him. Why? He was frozen in place. He didn't know what to do. This was a situation he had never planned for. Finding his voice, he simply asked, "Dick?"  
  
"You HURT me! Abused me! And you thought I LIKED it. How could you do that to me? Because of you ..." Dick said as he waved the gun in his shaky hand, " Because of you, I'm in Arkham. Because of you."  
  
Bruce saw the tears start to fall from the young man's eyes. Arkham? What was he talking about? Abuse? Bruce was confused. Obviously Dick was confused. Something was wrong, very wrong. He had to do something. But the space between Dick and he was too great for him to act. So he talked. "Dick, son, I have no idea what you're talking about. Put the gun down and we'll talk about this."  
  
"Talk! For the last month and a half all I've done is TALK! I have to purge you from my system. From my LIFE. From life. That's what the Doc told me."  
  
"Doc? Dick! What are you doing? What are you talking about? Put the gun down. You KNOW they are not allowed in this house." Bruce said forcefully. Dick was under someone's control. Some kind of mind control. This wasn't Dick.  
  
"I have to get better," Dick cried. "Why ... why did you ... to me?"  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about Dick. I --"  
  
Dick unlocked the safety as he aimed the gun at Bruce. His blue eyes becoming hard.  
  
Bruce knew that look. He had seen it many times. "Dick! Richard! Don't do this!"  
  
"I have to," Dick cried as he steadied his aim.  
  
"Nightwing! Don't! Robin!" he growled in The Voice as he saw Dick's finger starting to squeeze the trigger.  
  
BANG!  
  
To be continued .... 


	6. Chapter 6

When Nightmares Come Part 6   
  
Dick Grayson fell to his knees after the gunshot echoed throughout the house. Tears freely fell from his eyes. He laid on his side and curled into a ball. He couldn't shoot Bruce ... he couldn't kill him... he just couldn't... even if it meant the salvation of his own sanity. Loud sobs rose from his chest.  
  
Bruce stood there looking at his son. His mind was reeling with what had happened. At the last second Dick had shot into the floor. But ... Dick had ... he was ... NO! Dick didn't want to shoot him. Someone was making Dick do this. He had been gone for almost two months.  
  
Bruce remembered the last time he saw Dick. He thought Dick was acting a little strange when Dick told him he was going away for a few months -- that he had a friend in Arizona who needed him. Bruce knew that wasn't true. He and Barbara had tried to contact Dick, but he wasn't available. But they hadn't looked for Dick. Bruce thought Dick wanted some time alone -- away -- from him. What a mistake he had made.  
  
Obviously, Dick had been captured and brainwashed by experts. The manipulation was thorough and almost complete.  
  
And Bruce knew that Dick was NOT an easy person to brainwash.  
  
He moved to his son. Dropping to his knees, he took the crying young man into his arms. "Shh. It's okay. It's all okay now. Everything will be alright."  
  
"I ... it's all ... I am ... so ... confused. Are ... are you ... Batman?"  
  
Bruce's eyes widened. "Don't you know?"  
  
"Not sure ... no ... I ... yes ... I ... don't ... know."  
  
Bruce cradled his sobbing son in his arms. "Yes you do," he quietly replied. "That's why you couldn't do it. Couldn't shoot me. You know who I am and you know who you are."  
  
"I'm Nightwing," Dick said through gulping breaths. "I am Nightwing. It was all a lie."  
  
Bruce stroked the boy's hair. "Shh. Yes, it was all a lie." Bruce didn't really know what had happened to his son, but he knew it had been bad. He felt a rage swell within him. He didn't know who was responsible for this, but he would find out. And God help them when he did.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Dick awoke in his bed in the Manor. He looked around the room. Bruce and Alfred had gone through painstaking efforts to return this room's details to its pre quake state. He reveled in the familiarity of it. It was comforting. He sat up and looked around. The only light was that which streamed in his bedroom window. He looked at the photograph beside his bed. It was of him and Bruce when he was nine. He smiled at the photograph as he picked it up. As he looked at it, he felt tears fall from his eyes.  
  
What had he done? What had he almost done? Bruce could never forgive him for this. He could never forgive himself. He didn't deserve to be in this room, in this house. Not after what he had done. Not ever again.  
  
Dick stood, surprised at how shaky his legs were, and headed toward his door. Absentmindedly, he still clutched the framed photograph in his hand.  
  
He headed toward the stairs. The closer he came to them, he could hear voices. Unfamiliar voices. Looking over the railings he could see uniformed police officers in the entryway. He saw Bruce and Alfred talking with them. Dick felt a wave of nausea hit him and he leaned backwards against the wall. His stomach was turning.  
  
Police? Here? For him. He knew it. He deserved it, after all. He was going to kill his father. Dick slid down the wall and sat there unmoving. He rested his head on his knees as he waited. Waited for them to come and take him away.  
  
He didn't know how long he had sat there on the floor against the wall when he felt a strong had on his shoulder. Looking up through tear filled eyes, he saw Bruce standing over him.  
  
"Are they ready for me?" he asked weakly.  
  
Bruce's face showed a confused look. "Is who ready for you, Dick?"  
  
"The police. I saw them. I know they're here for me. For what I ... I did."  
  
"No, they aren't son," Bruce replied as he sat on the floor beside Dick. "Although, I think whoever sent you here to kill me hoped they would be. They had received an anonymous phone call about a shooting here. I told them I was cleaning a gun and it went off. Showed them the bullet hole in the floor. They aren't here for you." Bruce placed his arm around Dick's shoulder and pulled the younger man to him, "I wouldn't call the police to you Dick. You know that. You should know that."  
  
Dick felt the comfort and warmth of Bruce's arms. He felt at home here. "I don't know anymore. I don't know what I know anymore. But I do know you never hurt me, not like Doctor Thaggan said you did. Not like you said you did."  
  
Thaggan. Bruce had a name. That was a start. He'd see what Oracle could find for him. Like HE had said? "Dick, what do you mean like I said."  
  
"When you came to visit me, you said you had ... it was horrible things."  
  
"Son, that wasn't me."  
  
"It wasn't? No it wasn't. I know that," Dick replied as he leaned his head against Bruce's chest.  
  
"I know you're still confused. Leslie said your system's full of psychotropic drugs. But I need you to help me find the people who did this to you. Can you do that, partner?"  
  
Dick looked up at Bruce, and, with a weak smile, he responded, "I can try."  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
"Arkham," he said then shaking his head he continued, "no, not Arkham. A ship. On the wharf. A prison ship, it had cells. They kept me in a cell."  
  
Bruce made a mental note of the old military prison ship in the harbor. He knew where Batman was going tonight.  
  
Who could look like him enough to make Dick believe it was him? Only one person. "Okay, the impostor was probably Matt Hagan." It made sense now. Hagan had impersonated Dick as well. Bruce, the great detective, hadn't realized it. That was a huge mistake and look at what it caused -- all the pain Dick had suffered.  
  
Dick sat up straight and looked Bruce in the eye. "Clayface. I should have known. But ... but ..."  
  
"It was the drugs in your system." You have an excuse, what do I have? "Dick, tell me about Dr. Thaggan."  
  
"He's mid forties, gray hair, a psychiatrist. At least I think he is. He knew, they all knew, about me being Nightwing and you being Batman. They kept telling me it was a delusion in my mind. Hagan doesn't know our identities."  
  
"Unless he's working with someone who does. Or who thinks he does."  
  
Dick thought for a moment. The list knowing their identities was a short one. Longer than they wished, but still, a short list. Who on that list would know how to use psychiatric drugs and hypnosis to accomplish this? To try and turn Dick into Bruce's assassin? His blue eyes narrowed as one name came to mind. "Hugo Strange."  
  
"That'd be my bet," Bruce replied. "Robin and I will go to the prison ship tonight.  
  
"No. You and I."  
  
"Dick, you're -- "  
  
"You and I. Partner," Dick said determinedly.  
  
Bruce nodded as they continued to sit together on the floor. He understood his son's need to do this -- his need for closure.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Nightwing and Batman entered the abandoned prison ship. No one appeared to be there. Nightwing stood before the cell that had housed him for so long. He shuddered inwardly as he looked into the small cold space. Batman placed his hand on Nightwing's shoulder. Turning around, they started for "Thaggan's office".  
  
"They're gone aren't they?" Nightwing asked quietly as he walked through the empty office.  
  
"Yes. Probably left immediately after they sent you to the Manor."  
  
"So they get away, and now Clayface knows who we are too."  
  
"They don't 'get away'. They're just not here," Batman replied as he picked up the phone and hit the redial button for each line. The first line was 911 -- the anonymous phone call. The second line was an airplane hanger. "Oracle," he called into his communicator, "find the airplane hanger for the number 555-6238. I need to know all planes that have filed any flight paths today coming from that hanger, as well as it's exact location."  
  
"You've got it boss," Oracle replied.  
  
Nightwing looked at Batman. "Do you think we'll find them?"  
  
"We'll find them," Batman replied. His voice seemed emotionless, but the rage within him boiled. He would find Strange and he would pay for what he did to Dick.  
  
"One plane left the hanger this afternoon. The flight path was Gotham to Chicago. But the plane never landed in Chicago," Oracle's voice piped in over their communicators.  
  
Nightwing looked at Batman and sighed. "Any idea where it ended up?"  
  
"Not yet hunk wonder," she replied. It was so good to hear his voice again, although she could tell the edge it had. He hadn't fully recovered. She knew Batman knew that as well.  
  
Batman watched Nightwing tracing the patterns on the paisley chair. He saw how reticent the boy had become. He moved closer to him and placed a comforting hand on Nightwing's shoulder. "We need to investigate that hanger. Let's go."  
  
As Nightwing led Batman down familiar corridors, his thoughts returned to his time here in captivity. He remembered running through these same hallways in his failed escape attempt.  
  
As he opened the door leading topside, he was hit with a giant sledge hammer. Nightwing flew backwards into Batman. They both landed on the floor. They looked up to see the grotesque visage of Clayface leering at them.  
  
Without giving them a chance to recover, Clayface attacked. Molding the living mud of his body into weapons, he continually hammered them with the weight of the mud's mass. His massive size blocked the exit trapping them in the ship.  
  
Batman managed to pull his launching grappling hook from his utility belt. He fired it at Clayface. A hole formed in the center of Clayface and the hook flew through attaching to the ship's railing on the other side of the exit door.  
  
"You can't hit what you can't touch, Batman -- or should I say Bruce," Clayface laughed.  
  
Without responding to Hagan's taunts, Batman reached out for Nightwing's hand. Pushing a button, the line on the grappling hook retracted fast pulling Nightwing and Batman toward the door and into Clayface. The force pulled all three onto the deck. Batman and Nightwing immediately went into a roll going in different directions, flanking Clayface.  
  
Clayface remolded quickly shooting vise-like claws toward the two heroes.  
  
Nightwing could feel the pressure on his ribs as Clayface continued squeezing him. Soon his ribs would break. He looked to Batman on the other side of the mass of living mud. He was suffering the same trauma. He had to do something. They had to do something. Together. "Batman ... taser," he yelled.  
  
Instantly, both heroes activated the taser contained in their suit. Individually, each suit contained 50,000 volts of low amp shock. The two suits combined blasted Clayface with 100,000 volts. Although mud wasn't the best conductor of electricity, the combined amperage gave the required shock to Hagan. He dropped Batman and Nightwing. Rolling into the drop, they came up on the ship side of the deck. As they turned, they watched Hagan fall over the guardrails and into Gotham Harbor.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Oracle's communicator beeped in their ears as they checked the hanger for clues. "Yes," Batman curtly replied.  
  
"No one's been able to find Hagan's body, but they're going to keep looking. But you know as well as I do, he's probably not dead. Have you found anything on Strange?"  
  
"Negative," Batman said as he looked at Nightwing. His son was too quiet. "Batman out." Moving to Nightwing's side, Batman asked "Nightwing?"  
  
The younger man looked out the hanger door at the airfield. "The nightmare's over, isn't it? But, as long as Strange is out there, we'll never know when the nightmares will come again."  
  
Batman moved near his son, his presence comforting to the young man. "I know. But right now, we've got work to do."  
  
Nightwing smiled slightly. He knew who he was and where he belonged. He was home. Finally.  
  
THE END . . . for now . . . 


End file.
